Trust, Franken Ficlet & Blair the Okay
by Freya-Kendra
Summary: 3 slice-of-life ficlets. Trust: Not even a runaway truck could could shake Jim's trust in Blair. Franken Ficlet: Thump, clack ... It sounded like every horror movie ever made... Blair the Okay: Blair is not pleased with how he handled a problem in class
1. 1 Trust

Three Slice of Life ficlets:

**Trust**: (category: Friendship) It's not just about friendship. It's about trust. Not even a runaway truck could rob Jim of that realization.

**Franken-Ficlet**: (category: Humor) Thump, clack ... thump, clack ... thump, clack ... It sounded like every horror movie ever made, with zombies or Frankensteins or mask-wearing chainsaw ax murderers closing in.

**Blair-the-Okay**: (category: Friendship) When Blair is not pleased with how he handled – or failed to handle – a problem in class, Jim helps him to realize it's not a problem at all.

**TRUST**

_by Freya-Kendra_

Jim and Blair's latest attempt at a quiet fishing trip in the mountains had turned out to be exactly that. Quiet. Peaceful. Restful. Jim hadn't felt so utterly relaxed in... Well, he couldn't really remember ever feeling quite this way before. It was ... nice.

Closing his eyes, he sank into the passenger seat in his truck, confident that Blair could handle the drive home and pleased to have the degree of confidence in his partner he'd been able to establish. After so many years together, Jim had finally and fully come to recognize that his trust was well placed in Blair Sandburg.

Although the road was not exactly smooth, Jim felt lulled by the truck's passage down the mountain path, easing seamlessly around curves and rolling along at a steady, comfortable pace. But at some point something changed. Deep within him, he began to notice an equally steady increase in speed. When they rounded the next curve, Jim felt the force of the turn move him gently toward his friend.

"Chief?" He said sleepily. "You might want to slow it down a little."

"Sorry, Jim." Blair's tone was calm but breathy. "No can do."

Jim's eyes flashing open, he came to full alert. "What's wrong?" He looked at his partner and saw Blair's own gaze focused intermittently on the rearview mirror and the road ahead.

"It's either a runaway truck," Blair replied, "or a trucker in a hurry to end up at the bottom of this mountain."

Jim looked behind them to see the familiar words "MACK" clearly marked on the grill of the truck moving closer and closer to their bumper. He felt a slight jerk as Blair pressed more firmly on the gas pedal. At this speed, Sandburg didn't stand a chance pulling over onto the small shoulder. They'd end up smashed against the rocks beside them. Since traffic was light but steady in the opposite lane, pulling over to the opposite shoulder would be equally risky; and if they overshot that maneuver, they would find themselves reaching the bottom of the mountain in an even greater hurry than the trucker.

"Just hang in there, Chief," Jim said as he pulled out his cell phone. "You're doing great."

"Yeah," Blair said softly, his tone part sarcastic and part frantic.

"Great."

Jim dialed 911 as he felt another increase in acceleration, but the call never went through. The cellular service in the area was touch and go; at the moment, it was nonexistent.

"Hold on, Jim," Blair called out an instant before the next turn pulled Jim toward Blair, tires squealing beneath them.

The truck did not make the turn as easily. Jim watched its trailer zig-zag from their lane into oncoming traffic and back again. It barely missed clipping a black SUV.

"Shit!" Blair shouted. "Jim. I've got to stop. I have to stop, man."

There was a line of cars at a dead stop ahead of them. They had no choice but to stop as well. Jim braced himself, aware that Blair was doing the same as Jim's truck squealed into a sudden, desperate stop.

Then he stared at the truck, watching as the driver chose the only option available. He swerved into the currently -- miraculously? -- empty lane of oncoming traffic, the truck's horn blaring a solid warning all the way. When it rounded the next bend, Jim focused his sense of hearing, waiting for the sound of impact; it never came.

* * *

They never did find out what happened to the truck. Somehow, the driver must have regained control. It did not end up at the bottom of the mountain. It did not end up smashed against the rocky wall. In fact, for the remainder of the drive back to the loft, the partners did not encounter a single accident.

When Jim finally climbed out of his truck, Blair made a point of handing him the keys.

"Hang onto them," Jim said, already moving toward the building.

"What?" Blair stopped dead in his tracks.

Turning, Jim casually said, "I figure it's time we start taking turns driving. You're up tomorrow."

"Yeah?" Blair asked, clearly suspicious.

"Yeah." Jim shrugged and then started once more toward the loft.

"Where'd this come from?" Blair's voice called from behind him.

"You stayed one step ahead of a runaway truck," Jim said without taking a backward glance, "careening down a mountain and didn't get a scratch. I think you can handle the Cascade city streets."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Jim smiled. It's not just about friendship, he realized finally. It's about trust. And frankly, there's no better tonic in the world. It had already taken every last ounce of tension from his muscles. Now he was looking forward to a long, restful and perfect night's sleep.

end

This was another example of real-life experiences making their way into fic. Years ago I was driving down a mountain in Pennsylvania. Granted, the mountains in Pennsylvania are like giant rolling hills compared with the snow capped peaks in the Cascades, but they're still mountains, and definitely treacherous under the wrong conditions. My sister warned me that I was going a little too fast, because that section of roadway was a speed trap. "Good!" I replied. "I'd love to see a cop right now!" I had a good reason to be speeding. There was a truck behind me that just kept going faster and faster, forcing me to go faster and faster. By the time I realized it was happening, I was already going too fast to safely pull over. There was virtually no shoulder beside me, just a rocky wall. And the road was just a 2-lane rural highway: one lane for me, the other for oncoming traffic. Eventually, I had no choice but to stop behind a line of cars at a traffic light. The truck could not stop. It ended up swerving into the lane for oncoming traffic, which, by some miracle, was devoid of traffic at the time. Somehow, the truck made it uneventfully through the red light. Where it ended up from there, I have no idea. I never saw it again. But the incident stayed in my mind; and now it's finally become fodder for a ficlet.


	2. 2 Franken Ficlet

**Franken-Ficlet**

_by Freya-Kendra_

_* * *_

_Thump, clack ... thump, clack ... thump, clack ..._

As Blair listened to the sounds of mis-matched footsteps moving toward him, his heart thumped out enough volume on its own to nearly drown out the steady approach.

_Thump, clack ... thump, clack ... thump, clack ..._

His eyes darted about him in the dark alleyway, looking for signs of sanctuary or salvation. What few doors he saw were all shut tight, closing him out or sealing someone else in. There were no windows. There was only the blood-red brick and the sounds of someone ... or something following close behind him.

_Thump, clack ... thump, clack ... thump, clack ..._

Blair quickened his pace. Still, the sound drew closer and closer.

_Thump, clack ... thump, clack ... thump, clack ..._

It sounded like every horror movie ever made, with zombies or Frankensteins or mask-wearing chainsaw ax murderers closing in. Steadily. Relentlessly.

_Thump, clack ... thump, clack ... thump, clack ..._

The tension building, he was sure an audience somewhere was just waiting for the thrill of the kill. It was not a question of if, but of when ... and how. Fortunately he hadn't heard the tell-tale buzz of a chainsaw ready for action -- at least not yet.

_Thump, clack ... thump, clack ... thump, clack ..._

"Alright, already!" Stopping short, Blair spun around to face his tormenter.

_Thump, clack ... thump, clack ... thump ..._

His pursuer stopped at the edge of a shadow, seeming intent on avoiding the light of the full moon.

Blair's breaths grew quicker, more shallow. He was amazed he could breathe at all. It felt as though some evil force had wrapped itself tightly around his throat.

"I'm sorry, okay?" He shouted. "There I said it. Now will you just stop with this silent treatment?"

The figure stepped quietly forward. Blair found himself holding his breath.

"Never again, Sandburg." The moonlight caught Jim's icy glare and shot it like a laser beam across the space between them.

"I know, Jim. I know. I'm sorry. I really had no idea Carol was such a hands-off mother. But what you did, man, I mean it was nothing short of heroic."

Jim's glare intensified. "Never. Again. Got it?"

"Oh yeah. I got it, Jim. I think the only one who couldn't get it is Carol. Oh, and her kids, if they ever manage to get near you again."

"Never."

"Ah, never say never, Jim. I mean, they do live just down the street, and you never know, you know?"

"Never."

"And you know you can't touch them. I mean, they're just kids. And they're not your kids. You really can't--"

"Never. Again. Got it?"

"Yeah, Jim. I got it, man."

"Now get your butt up that fire escape and bring down the sharpest knife you can find."

Blair could almost hear the eerie background music that had accompanied each downward strike of Norman Bates' deadly blade in the original Psycho.

"A small hack-saw would work better, don't you think, Jim?"

"I don't care. Just make sure it's sharp."

"Yeah. Right." Blair scrambled up the fire escape and hurried through the loft's rear door.

"Sharp," He repeated to himself as he sifted through the tool box under the kitchen sink. The first thing he found was a utility knife. "Perfect," He decided.

Back down in the alley, Blair's hand shook as he tried to saw through the makeshift cast Carol had allowed her daughter to affix to Jim's left foot.

"Careful with that, will you?" Jim said. "Just the plaster, not the skin, alright?"

"Yeah, Jim. I know."

"I can't believe I let her get away with this."

"I'm with you there, man." Blair chuckled. "You know, Jim. I've never seen you be so ... accommodating. It was almost as though..."

A light bulb went off in Blair's head. "You've got a thing for Carol, don't you?" Blair stopped to look up into his friend's eyes.

"Are you forgetting whose idea it was to go to her kid's party in the first place?"

"No, Jim. I couldn't possibly forget whose fault it was you ended up walking out of there wearing a hand painted pink paisley cast. But ...."

A grimace turned to a suspicious, sideways glance. "But why'd you ever agree to go in the first place?"

"Because you insisted it was the neighborly thing to do." Jim's jaw muscles tensed as he fixed Blair with his coldest, hardest glare he could muster. "Now get this thing off my foot!"

"I'll get it off. As soon as you admit you only endured this whole night because ... you're into her. You've got a thing for Carol Foster."

"Sandburg!" Jim demanded icily.

"Admit it, Jim."

The glare faded. Jim's jaw relaxed. He sighed. "Okay, Sandburg. Maybe I did. But that was before I realized she had the kids from Hell. Now get sawing!"

Blair snickered as he got back to work. He was getting tired of sawing with a blade that hadn't been nearly as sharp as he'd expected, when the flash of headlights held his hand.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. Sandburg! Give me that thing, now!"

As soon as Blair passed him the blade, Jim sliced and sawed at the cast looking every bit like the psycho slasher Blair had earlier imagined.

But it was useless. There was no way Jim could possibly get it off before the patrol car reached them. By tomorrow morning half of Cascade's PD would be swapping stories about The Detective in the Pink Paisley Cast.

Jim sighed in resignation as the patrol car came to a stop. He straightened his posture, apparently prepared to make light of the situation, and then watched an officer approach.

"Detective Ellison, I presume?" She greeted.

Jim turned to Blair, confusion evident by the drawn line of his brow. "That's right," he answered.

The officer laughed softly. "I heard you had a little ... situation on your hands."

"You heard? From who?"

_Oh, no_. Jim was definitely not happy. Blair felt a tenseness in the air that practically crackled with energy.

"My brother's boss's ex-girlfriend," the officer replied, "owed a favor to Carol Foster. Long story. Let's just say I'm the favor."

"Carol called you?"

"In a manner of speaking. She called her brother, who called.... It doesn't matter. The bottom line is she was concerned about your ... reputation."

"She ... _was_?" Jim's posture straightened up all its own then.

Blair shook his head in amusement. Suddenly, he seriously doubted Jim would stick to his "_Never again_" proclamation. And no one back at the PD would ever know a thing about the pink paisley cast. That is, as long as Blair Sandburg kept quiet....

end

* * *


	3. 3 Blair the Okay

**Alexander the Great & Blair the Okay** (Slice of Life ficlet)

"I blew it, man," Blair announced as he slammed the loft door shut behind him. "I just totally lost control." He threw his keys onto the table and brushed past Jim as though his friend wasn't even in the room.

"Hi honey, I'm home," Jim said sarcastically as he stirred a pot on the kitchen stove.

"Cute, Jim," Blair called out from his bedroom. He slammed a few drawers and made a general racket before he rejoined Jim in the kitchen.

"So you had a bad day at school," Jim offered. "It happens. Get over it."

"Get over it? I let Professor Perkins's lab assistant completely derail my class, Jim. That's not something I can just get over."

"I don't suppose you want to tell me about--"

"He was just sitting in on the class. All he had to do was listen to the lecture. That's it. But no, that wasn't good enough for him. He had to make it his personal objective to shoot down every theory I put out there. I mean, he was armed and ready, man."

"Do I need to go down there and kick his ass for you?"

"Ha-ha. Very funny." Blair cocked his head in consideration. "Not a bad idea, though." He smiled briefly, despite his frustration.

Jim covered the pot and moved to the fridge. "So what happened?" He asked as he grabbed two beers.

Sighing, Blair took the offering and sat down at the table. "I don't know. I just ... normally I can handle something like that. But for some reason ..." He shook his head. "My defenses were down."

"That's understandable," Jim offered sincerely. "Between the Crenshaw case and the staffing problems you've been having at the university, it's all taken its toll on you."

Blair nodded. "But when the defenses go down, the shields are supposed to go up. I dropped my shields, Jim. I let him get in, under my skin. It all went downhill from there."

"It happens, Chief. Learn from it and move on."

"I know. I know. Whatever doesn't kill me makes me stronger. And he didn't exactly kill me, he just--"

"Bruised your ego."

Blair shrugged and then offered a brief nod. "And my reputation."

"Nope."

"What?"

"From what I hear, you've established a pretty good reputation over there. And it takes more than one, minor incident to damage a reputation."

Blair gave him a pessimistic glare. "One significant incident is all it can take to ruin a reputation. Believe me, Jim, there was damage. And besides, I'd like to know what you hear exactly, and from whom."

"I have my sources." Jim smiled deviously. "Ease up, Chief. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. Did anyone say anything to you afterward?"

Blair considered that for a moment, and then gave a small nod. "A couple of students smiled and gave me a thumbs up at the end of class."

"Why do you suppose they did that?"

"I don't know." Blair hesitated before admitting, "It seemed like they thought I did okay."

"Then don't you think that maybe you did?"

"I didn't do great." Blair said. "I know I could've handled it better."

"Okay's not exactly bad, Chief."

"Okay is okay." Blair shrugged. "It's not great."

"Not everyone can be great every day of the week."

"Except maybe Alexander."

"Who?"

"Alexander the Great."

"So," Jim shrugged. "Can you settle for Blair the Okay?"

"Doesn't exactly have a ring to it, does it?"

"How 'bout Blair the Good?"

Blair grimaced. "Sounds weak, man."

"Well, that'll never do. How about Blair the guy who had a rough day, but who's now home sharing a beer with another guy who's telling him to get over it?"

Blair chuckled. "Kind of a mouthful. But..." Blair nodded. "It'll do."

He clinked his bottle against Jim's and took a long, soothing swallow.

end


End file.
